


Theoretically

by SpicyAngst



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Gore, Dream Sequences, Fluff AND Angst baby!!, Gordon has a prosthetic hand, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Soulbonds, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyAngst/pseuds/SpicyAngst
Summary: //this was almost titled "minecraft lead physics real" so do with that what you willGordon would have given anything to have things go back to the way they were before Black Mesa. His son had no doubt missed him. And so did his bills. He thought he was ready to step back into the normal.Although the mopey pile of bones tailing him home from Chuck E. Cheese's certainly complicated things.
Relationships: Benrey & Gordon Freeman, Benrey & Tommy Coolatta, Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 152





	1. heart to heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benrey finds himself someplace far from Black Mesa, and Gordon enjoys the rest of his friends company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TW for intense descriptions of gore and blood, lads. Discretion advised if you don't vibe with that.] 
> 
> Please enjoy! <3

Benrey had a funny relationship with the void of death. Before Black Mesa he hadn’t seen much of it past the occasional glimpse. Stuff you see in dreams, like the patterns behind your eyelids. Before then, he had never been ‘killed’ in a way that mattered. But there he was, getting as comfortable as one could get in a spacious colorless void. He didn’t have much of a choice now.

Everything that happened in the void was delayed. Real laggy shit. Benrey couldn’t pull his arms through the gelatinous solution of nothing without serious concentration, so he kept his arms crossed over his chest, still miraculously covered by his busted Kevlar vest. He kept his eyes shut as well. There was nothing interesting about swirling void-goop that made your eyes hurt. The goop was new as far as he could remember. Before being dead he knew that the void was just a whole lot of swirly nebulous nothing, the walls of it all too far to make out an end. There used to be a plane of pure darkness under him. If he had the time to look close enough between this place and the next, he could see the faint glow of stars through the hazy floor, blinking comfortingly up at him.

Now, there was a sensation of constant falling that he’d grown used to in the time he’d spent stuck in the nothing, a pulling at his legs that just seemed to push him further and further into the same hole. It wasn’t cold or warm. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. He couldn’t even say how long he’d been stuck, only that it had been too long.

Memories of what happened came back in blips, a beat of color against the wall of his mind he was using as a projector screen. He saw reds and oranges, lots of orange. He saw the blue glow of the sweet voice all around him. He saw beads of yellow bullets arching toward his vague appendages in crimson darkness. Benrey saw the bright green cracks of lightning racing along his skin, blistering upon impact. Most of all the things, he saw the blinding silhouettes of his friends falling farther and farther away from him.

But it’s cool. Y’know? He knew they killed him and he can’t say he’s surprised. They’d done it plenty of times before. This time it just seemed to be a little more permanent.

He scowls into the dark.

_‘There are no predetermined deaths.’_

Saying it didn’t seem to work. He still apparently had no choice but to go along with the stupid game thing. Stupid no fun code and stupid cringe rules. He almost wishes he hadn’t said it in the first place, the irony of it all hitting below the belt. He wished he’d skipped work. He wished he’d just have tried to ignore the rules even if it meant having less fun. Benrey wished about a lot of things while he was stuck.

There wasn’t light for a very long time, but it eventually came.

Benrey could have missed it if he hadn’t opened his eyes right then. A flash of yellow light. A single string of something that glowed against the haze of the swirling goop. He jolted in place, the remnants of his fucked-up form jittering one after the other out of sync. There again, through the goop was a burst of white. Another plain streak, and then another. And another. They filled out into a slowly approaching mass of straight lines, curving into themselves the further he got. 

Then he hit the black, starless floor with a thud.

It hurt, which sucked. He hadn’t felt any pain in a while.

Benrey took in the feeling of the void against his face, buzzing with energy that brought the blood back into his temples. His slowly materializing hands, still massive and clawed, twitched at his side as he laid there like an idiot. The room he apparently saw no end to looked strangely cramped since the last time he’d seen it. Although the massive sprawling tangle of glowing ropes took up a pretty considerable space.

The network of lights was bigger than him, (which was a feat in and of itself) and it had to be brighter than the sun. His newly unjellied eyes squinted dimly at the orb of strings, watching it pulse. He noted the ropes all around it, pulled taut into the ball like a barrier of stringy hair all around the ‘face.’ The ropes went in an array of different directions, some low to the ground, level with his face, and others stretched up into the murky sky with no discernible end.

Benrey slowly pulled himself into a crouch, avoiding the ropes warily. From where he’d been carried, he tried to peer into the ball of light as best he could. Through each string he saw the impression of something bright white and aqueous, pumping in and out of each rope in rhythm with a loud chorus of thumping that drowned out anything else he might have heard. Like ichor through the heart of some fallen titan. As he stared, whatever was left of his pulse quickened. Somehow, with every beat of the strange heart, it grew larger, bulging grotesquely his way.

Only that couldn’t be it. He registered the feeling of his own legs carrying him closer to the heart, his own claws running absently over each string. They poked at the pulsing ropes gently, and his mind eventually leaned into the action, hastily taking his arms back from whatever had drawn him in.

Just a little bit of rope touchin,’ nothing to fear. Something wanted him to go along with this anyway. They were hot under his claws and ridged like the inside of a vacuum tube, he noticed as his fingers pulled the warm flaps away from the string’s core. Part of him insisted he not touch that core so he strayed from the openings he created as the rope petting got a little more serious. They only seemed to move with the liquid inside and the force of his hands, still very taut where they sat in the air. And sort of plasticky in texture. They made a funny little noise when he plucked them.

_Doung._

Nice.

Benrey kept himself busy with the strings as he settled a little more into the strangeness. Damn he might even put on a little show with these strings, fuck it.

_Doung doung doiung. Ding doung ding doung._

Soon he was filling up the room with his sick tunes and floating yellow sweet voice, accompanied by a light note carrying itself past his lips. The fuzzy balls of light tumbled lazily into the air like fat bumblebees. Any fleeting thoughts of Tommy were suddenly interrupted by a twang much louder than it should have been. And stranger. Benrey looked at his side, where the new noise had come from. One of the identical strings stood under his hand, coating it in a warm baby blue glow. Benry plucked it again and heard the same, bass tone reverberate against his palm. Huh. He tried the one next to it. Something like a synth bell toll vibrated into existence. The more strings that got friendly with his claws, the more noises they made. Dings and squeaks and chimes that shouldn’t have come from plucking a string but what was he gonna do? Tune the massive alien music-heart?

Curious, Benrey followed the new noises deeper into the ball of light, his little symphony growing less and less coherent as he wedged his way through the thickening jungle of ropes.

The knot of the heart was drawing ever closer with each strum of an impossible chord. It stung his eyes to get up close but squinting away was becoming less of an option. Wide rays of pure light were piercing through his eyelids, barely tolerable. But the music was encouraging. It stirred something in his belly, something important. Some sort of connection that had settled in his belly, tugging him gingerly forward to follow the music. To keep going.

Somewhere through the jungle, the plane under him dipped into a pit, partially obscured by the ropes it dragged in bellow. To his dismay, the tugging feeling insisted he follow after them.

It didn’t look like there was a floor for him to creep onto at first, until he noted the cluster of stars at his feet. He lowered himself onto the ground, staring back at them and noticing how they warped. Like they were embedded in some sort of glass that had been cut down the middle. He rose back to his feet, his eyes still fixed on the floor. Benrey gave the edge of the pit an experimental tap. It didn’t immediately disintegrate. Instead, the thin strings of some gummy material died off just as Benry wrenched his foot back from the ground, and the floor fell away in a shoe-shaped hole. Like it had formed some sort of living connection with his boot.

Gross… bootlicker dimension.

Whatever was left of that piece of floor was gone. As was the suggestion of a plane under it.

Careful of the hole, Benrey tiptoed into the pit, vaguely aware of the floor falling away behind him in chunks.

The hollow base of the heart came into view, folded inward like a dome. A ring of light hung ominously over the strange membrane that served as the pit’s floor. It too fell away from his boot as he shuffled to the side. He watched in quiet awe as the heart rose farther and farther into the air, descending at his own slightly shaken pace. Was this what stars looked like up close, he wondered? Because, for the first time in many years, Benrey felt frighteningly small.

Before he knew it the bottom of the pit welcomed him with its strange webbed floor. He saw how the beam of light beckoned bits of floor in with it, pulling things in like it fed into a sourceless airlock.

 _Come, come,_ urged the same feeling, coercing him ever closer to the ring.

He hesitated at the beam.

Through the light he could see something round. Something bulging in on itself with every pump of the mystery liquid. The _real_ heart maybe? Benrey held out a hand into the titanium light.

To his surprise, it washed his claws in shockingly pleasant heat, sending tingles all the way up to his shoulder. Inviting him in.

Only his arm moved before he could think, and the light instantly enveloped him.

Through the blinding haze, Benrey felt safe, blanketed almost. That tingling heat prickled at his face. It coated his skin in strange vibrations even under his helmet. A strange sort of sedation overtook him and willed him to open his eyes. For once, they didn’t protest, easily sliding open to realize that the inside of the ring wasn’t nearly as bright on the inside. However that worked. He was surprised to find himself a spotless, circular room, the halo of light behind him somehow creating a tangible wall that singed his elbows.

With a grunt, Benrey reared away from the new wall in shock. Any of the spongey floor behind him instantly fell away, the light suction under his boots suddenly the only thing between him and the darkness. He was careful not to step without thinking.

Instead, he turned to face the knot of much thinner ropes in the middle of the room. It hung like an chandelier by the tangle of ribbed tubing suspending it. Pulsing faintly. It had to be about the size of one of those beachball things, sort of structured like one too. It’s ropes curved on in themselves in some impossible loop. There must have been several ridges along the knot too, not quite bending with the light where he knew it should have. Benrey took his first step closer.

Another wave of that sedation crashed over him again, stilling his breath. He felt himself moving before he could think. He took a step closer. Even closer. The ridges became increasingly purposeful with every new step forward. Up close and personal, they were like nothing he’d ever seen. Geometrical patterns of string and the gooey liquid inside layered themselves in veins of uniform, up-and-down squiggles. They were certainly something. They were beautiful, something else decided. Yeah he could get behind that too. Beautiful. Created naturally by the passing of time he somehow understood. Benrey felt like he was caught in an imaginary orbit, pacing circles around the knot. Taking in the grandness of it all. The patterns remained the same, wherever he stared from. It was strange to think he’d ever NOT seen them from far away, so incredible to behold. The blistering white must have blended away any far off intricacies.

He wondered what they felt like.

They were different from the ropes before. Much more compact. They glowed brighter under he surface than the ones far above. Enticingly bright. He wondered if they strummed like the ones outside. What noises could they make?

And that was when Benrey reached up to feel the core for himself.

Hot.

Hot?

 _Hot._ Abnormally hot. _Scalding_ hot, far too hot for him to describe.

He saw a peal of smoke fly out from under his claws before he wrenched them away, holding the throbbing hand as close as his could. They spasmed against his belly, his fingertips rubbery where they chafed against his vest. It all happened so fast.

He didn’t hear himself whimpering about it until he opened eyes again. He wished he hadn’t. Because he didn’t close them again. He couldn’t, literally couldn’t even move. Not even when he felt himself being pulled inexplicably closer to the scalding core. Not even when he felt his arms lock up in place, pinning his elbows against his heaving ribs.

Not even when he saw the gigantic, pulsing tube that had anchored itself in his gut.

Benrey hardly remembered the rest. The feeling of being dragged by a rope in his belly into the heart. The sickening realization that the ropes were much sharper when you were pulled violently up into them. Through them. The horrible way his flesh came loose from the bone, so easily rendering him nothing but another skeleton. Loose from its skin suit and still full of a screaming brain. Benrey didn’t understand why it felt like it mattered more than it had before. Why it hurt more permanently. How could he? He’d been killed many times over, and never before had he felt like begging out loud for it to stop. He didn’t understand. His muscle fell away in minced chunks, flooding the ropes in red and yellow. Xen and Black Mesa. Marks of his origin. He didn’t understand. The runny trails gushed out around the meat, mixing into that same angry color. _Lots of orange._ Like even his blood wanted out. And it was all _so_ fast. It was happening so fast. But it still happened.

The heart's filter picked him clean quickly. It saw no need to make him suffer longer than it needed to.

His wet bones fell through the cracks in the blood-soaked web, folding in on themselves with the help of whatever tendons he had left. There was no more pain. His nerves had already been plucked away. The rope, still somehow attached, did nothing to keep him from falling back into the pit. There, he slipped into the same holes his boots had left only seconds ago.

Benrey fell into the nothing gratefully, watching the light fade out of view. He marveled at the way the black void splashed around the white, boot-shaped hole. How even the stars moved with it, fading back into blissful dormancy as invisible eyelids closed over his sockets and granted him a little peace.

Moments later, the skeleton woke up in the crater of a dented car hood.  
  


* * *

It’s early summer by the time Gordon finds his way home. The suffocating heat against his shaggy neck would be next to unbearable if he hadn’t endured worse in the last 24 hours. A morning ago he’d been scrabbling through an alien hellscape being chased around by a bastard in a stupid-strong helmet. The house is wider than he remembers, low to the ground and slowly being consumed by an unattended pot of ivy on one side. Gordon almost can’t look at the whole thing from where he’s standing in the street. The terra-cotta roof is missing shingles near the edges. He never noticed that.

The party was a whirlwind. There was confetti all over the ground, strange to see when the confetti canon never went off on he and Tommy’s request. Not that he wanted to put a damper on the mood but Gordon wasn’t sure how great breaking down inside a Chuck E. Cheese’s would go, and he didn’t want to try to find out. Instead, he tried his best to stick it out till the end, unbelievably ready to go the fuck home to his poor son from the minute he sat down in that booth. (His mother would no doubt have some serious questions for him when he got back. He could hear the voicemails now.)

Things had died down quite a bit since then. No more minions, no more Vin Diesel. G-man had thankfully fucked off someplace else and Bubby was inexplicably passed out in the booth next to him, one of his bony ass legs kicked up on the table.

Still Gordon felt a little guilty for being sour about the party.

He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy anything, because really he did have fun. But the way the leather seat under him squeaked against his clunky, crushing suit made him want to rip it to shreds. He wondered how ripping a leather booth would work with one hand, as his brand new one was currently out of commission. The G-man certainly spared no expense on the handy prosthetic (it even _felt_ like real skin under his gloves. Gordon tried not to think too hard on the implications of that.) But he could have at _least_ given him an instruction manual. As far as Gordon was concerned, it’d take a good few months of physical therapy to get his weird Luke Skywalker joints to work right again. Any attempt to move the fingers individually resulted in an embarrassing flourish of crab-claw pinching that he had to use his other hand to stifle. Maybe he could shoot some holes in the seat to give old lefty a running start..?

“Mr. Freeman!” Gordon sighed into himself, craning his head to look up at the much taller scientist peering down at him. His equally as massive dog panting at his side. Gordon turned around to actually face Tommy with a tiny smile, his jaw clenching at the rubbery noise under his legs.

“Yeah bud?”

“Thank you for coming to my party. It— it means a lot to me.”

“Hey, I’m glad I got to spend a little more time with you guys,” He replies easily, “Thanks for having me, Tommy.”

Tommy beams at him, soda in hand. And Gordon does his best to smile back, looking down at his arms. The hand spasms slightly in place, drawing his attention. The harder he looks the more he considers that it’s too real to be... real. His knuckles still bulge in the same places, the bump of his wrist bone is as rigid as he remembers. If he had the will to push his glasses up he might have even seen the same scars peeking out from under his gloves. For a moment he’s afraid if he looks away it’ll be that mini gun again, or a puss-leaking bloody stump, ravaged by alien blood and sewage. He thinks he can hear the patter of blood against his armored leg. Where his real arm had been not long ago.

Sunkist is nosing through Tommy’s coat pockets when Gordon feels a pat on his shoulder. He tries not to flinch.

“Uh, we’ll see each other after this again, right Mr. Freeman?”

Dr. Coomer answers for him, popping up from under the table with a crowbar in hand. Bubby almost falls out of his seat, startled from his black-out nap.

“Of course we will, Tommy! We make a great team, after all!”

“Yeah,” Gordon agrees, steadying himself after the surprise. He reaches over to pet Sunkist’s head. The dog chuffs playfully against his palm, her whiskers poking him through his gloves. “We sure do, Dr. Coomer.”

“Besides, I imagine we’ll have to stay in touch if we ever want to rob that bank, now won’t we?” The old man chirps, plopping down next to his fellow geezer (who had since decided Coomer’s jump-scare was nothing of concern, already nodding off again.) Gordon agrees.

“Mm. We should.”

“Mm...” Tommy echoes with a bit less vigor.

A bank robbery must not have been first on his birthday list. And now that Gordon thinks about it, he doesn’t know how good he feels about risking it all with a hand that would only be useful in a high-risk muppet situation. And also a son. _Jesus Christ, nice priorities, Gordon._

“Well we’d better get a move on then,” Bubby says into Dr. Coomer’s shoulder. The other scientist shifts his arm and Bubby’s head snaps up to groggily declare, “I have places to be.”

“Quite right, Dr. Bubby! I think if we hurry now, we’ll be able to make it to wherever you’d like to be within the hour!”

Bubby nods, “I like those odds.”

Taking that as their cue to scoot out, Gordon watches Tommy walk over to the end of the table. He feels Sunkist slip away to follow after her owner. And he sort of takes in the sight of them all.

Tommy was glowing, even under all the dirt and grime. The party seemed to be all it took to brighten his spirits. He was almost as smiley as he’d been before the incident. Beside him, Bubby leaned against Coomer with a carefree grin, albeit sleepy. A new sort of glint was coming from behind those glasses. A mix of determination and vigor that only meant trouble. It looked like Dr. Coomer didn’t mind the contact. In fact, as he bent to pet Sunkist, Gordon watched him smoothly sling his free arm around the taller scientist's shoulders. They all looked happy. Happy to be there, happy to have each other. Happy to see what came next.

Gordon had no idea what came next. He wasn’t used to the feeling quite yet. Once he was out of this damn building, he’d walk his bloody ass out to a bus stop and dance for bus money if he had to. And if there was nothing close to his place, he’d walk the rest. Because he just needed his son and his home back, and about a million painkillers to follow. Unless he had those, happiness was probably off limits for a little while. _Fair enough_ , Gordon thought. He’d have to just… wait it out until then. _Easy._

It was hard to think of Tommy or Bubby outside of Black mesa. Even as they stood in front of him inside of a Chucky Cheese, his mind struggled to imagine a world where someone like Tommy was just walking around like a normal person. Or Bubby for that matter. The idea of the crotchety old arsonist being loosed on the world was admittedly hilarious but the comments about his… tube situation made Gordon wonder. Like whether or not Bubby would have somewhere to go. Gordon didn’t know about the other’s situations but _he_ certainly couldn’t introduce an elderly experiment to human society. Speaking of the others, what about Dr. Coomer? He’d known Coomer (or at least that he existed) way before the resonance cascade— he had to have been living a totally normal life before everything too. The baffling image of Dr. Buff-Ass-Grandpa Coomer mowing a lawn in some suburb was almost too much to handle.

In spite of these things, none of the others seemed to give the reality of their situation much thought. Everyone still seemed ecstatic to get back to their lives, whatever they had been before. Gordon could see it now. A colorful world on fire, ruled by grandpas and flying ball-spitting dogs. He saw Bubby someplace on a throne made of mountains of cash and rubble. All of it entirely engulfed in flames, of course. He imagined Dr. Coomer in the middle of a massive boxing ring, battling against some cartoony Rocky villain. Kicking ass as per usual. There wasn’t a universe in existence where Dr. Coomer wouldn’t be kicking ass. Who knows what Tommy would be up to, a meddlesome part of Gordon insisting in the back of his mind that ’sitting down and watching TV and feeding Sunkist’ was some sort of metaphor for more whack-job mad scientist bull-shittery. Although in the same breath Gordon could easily extend the most of his disbelief to Tommy. He was somehow the most normal of them all. Gordon could still wonder though.

“Mr. Freeman?”

“Huh?” Gordon looked over to see the Science Team staring back at him confusedly.

“And he hasn’t even been listening all this time.” Bubby crows, “ _Gordon,_ get off your ass and scheme with us!” Coomer frowns at him disappointedly, shaking his head.

“He isn’t even scheming with us.”

“Yeah are—aren’t you coming to say goodbye, Mr. Freem—man?” Tommy asks him, looking over Bubby’s shoulder.

Despite himself, Gordon cracked a smile. He shuffled out saying,

“Course I am! Hold on a minute, _jesus_. You know this suits harder to get out of chairs in than it looks.”

“…Get _out_ of chairs in than?”

As Gordon steps over and puts his good hand on Tommy’s shoulder, Coomer nods sagely, explaining something about ovens and hot food under his breath to Bubby. A sense of camaraderie makes his chest bloom with something like hope, and he looks to the flickering exit sign with a resigned grin. Everything seems like it’ll be okay.

Gman is waiting for them in the parking lot. The sky is yellow and blue by the time they file out in a familiar cluster, listening to him speak. He explains a few things before he (thankfully) calls them their cabs. Stuff about the fate of Black Mesa and legalities and hush money that Gordon pretends to process. The way the man speaks makes time lag, and Gordon feels his impatience getting the better of him as the seconds without his son tick by. He hardly even registers the last words he leaves them with.

“… be seeing you all in the near… future, hm?” Gordon doesn’t miss the pointed glance the man sends his way. “Have a good evening, gentlemen… Come along Tommy.”

Tommy looks at them all again. He walks over to hug them all, one by one. Soon everyone's turning to say their teary goodbyes, repeating thanks and compliments even as the cabs roll in. The happy scientist and his father eventually drove away, with Sunkist in her own personal cab behind them. Without warning, Bubby and Coomer ran off together to the far end of the parking lot, waving Gordon goodbye. The distant, ‘Goodbye, Gordon’ was excited. He watched them go with a confused grin, staring at their empty cab like a kid left alone at a convenience store register. The driver must have gotten the message because it too drove off into the highway.

Gordon’s cab pulled in after it.

This was it. Home free. He offered the driver a smile, hopping in and settling into the fabric seat with a soundless plop. He let out a sigh.

“Where to, sir?” The driver chimes.

“How close are we to Albuquerque?”

“‘Bout twenty miles out.”

He sighs a little more into the seat. “54 Clarity Lane, _please_.”

“Sure thing.”

The cab kicks into motion. Gordon almost wants to sing. The Chuck E. Cheese’s rolls past him as he scoots over to the other window, staring at the lovely cloudless sky. It’s beautiful. Just plain beautiful. The driver lets him roll down the window as they make their way out of the parking lot.

There, he sees Coomer and Bubby standing in front of a pristine, white Cadillac. Hot wiring it he assumes. Gordon barely catches the tail end of Bubby raving about a massive effing dent in his brand new caddy before he saw it.

Floating about fifteen feet behind the cab was the pale silhouette of a skeleton, dragging itself along pathetically. Its flapping jaw clacked lazy against its collar bone at a comical angle. Its sockets look more hollow than normal, the sunlight coating it in a sickly yellow glow. It raises its head to meet his gaze and trips over its feet.

Gordon almost breaks his fucking molars.

“ _STOP THE CAR—!_ ”


	2. aand we're back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benrey says hello. Gordon can't say he's too happy about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the big long wait on this chapter, currently juggling fandoms atm. Thank you for your patience ^^''
> 
> [TW for long description(s) of alien body horror, just shapeshifter tings] Please enjoy <3

Gordon’s head was getting seriously abused today.

After falling about a million times from an alien bounce pad, you’d think the universe would give him a bit of a break. Or at least his cranium. The universe of course, offered no such mercy. He had the sense to turn his head before the whiplash of the breaking cab channeled his inner pigeon, smacking his head against the lip of the window.

THUNK.

It’s when the skeleton hits the back of the car, that Gordon also realizes he misspoke.

One too many hits to the head perhaps. Although it could easily have been because there was an amalgamate manifestation of everything he was about to leave behind about ten fucking feet away from his cab.

His breath starts catching up to him.

Stop the car. Stop the car?? Gordon wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the skeleton as possible!

But he’s stuck there for a split second. Listening to the driver’s fearful exclamations, and the screech of the tire. None of what they’re saying is getting through. He’s completely frozen in time. It’s like a hand grabbed his brainstem by the base and started shaking. Or rather, that’s when he started shaking. As useless as his body became, his teeth clench and grind. His throat just bobbed up and down, a near exact mirror of his marble-bag of a mind. Trying its best to compute. He picks up the spheres of his brain matter as best as he can, realizing what’s happened. The screaming breaks, the thump against the back of the car where the stupid bag of bones ate shit.

“ _Hello_!? Can you hear me? What is going on,” demands the voice of the cab driver. They prod his armored knee with a finger, interrupting the clean up process, “what are you yelling about?!”

Gordon’s voice comes out strained when he shushes them. They reel back, scared for a moment. The man looks like he’s seen a ghost, sitting in his weird cosplay in their cab, covered in dirt and grime. Quivering. He’s frightened too. For what? Their face screws up in a scowl, and they open their mouth to yell at him again before reconsidering. As Gordon glances at the window, they whisper, “Sir I-i think I hit someone.”

He’s not listening. For a minute Gordon wonders if he’d imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen… it and had been hallucinating. Or something to that degree. It would be easier to deal with the repercussions of causing a car accident than anything that was waiting outside the car door.

He peeks back out the still open window. His gloves grab at each other in a desperate attempt to steady themselves. Gordon feels his prosthetic spasming in place with every thump of his heartbeat.

Sprawled out on the asphalt is the saddest looking skeleton he’s seen yet. It’s on its back, ribs trembling and knees knocking at uncomfortable angles. Not broken, but most definitely scuffed. Its almost top-heavy skull tipped up to reveal a massive black streak of soot across its forehead. Gordon winced, despite himself. The way the bone frayed with the concrete’s grain was… beyond gross.

The skeleton must have noticed him move.

Its downturned sockets meet briefly with his. Gordon goes rigid again. Suddenly they’re locked in a staring competition. It paused. Something about the way it craned its neck sparks something like recognition in Gordon’s heaving chest. And with a jolt, he watches it suddenly lunge forward and hurry to its knees as best as it can. Mouth agape, revealing a set of horrible yellow fangs. Gnashing just outside the car door.

The driver lets out a strangled scream, pointing at the crawling monster and the noise alone is enough to send the scientist into hysterics. For that exact reason, what Gordon meant to say was,

“ _FLOOR IT!_ ”

It’s an awkward drive home to say the least.

Gordon kept his eyes on the space between his knees and the seat for the majority of the ride, resigning himself to silence when the skeleton suddenly rose out of sight. Gone as quickly as it came. Looking back at the driver, he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to explain. Then something like the weight of the world cracked down upon his shoulders. It was back. Somehow, the skeleton was back and all he could think was, ‘why.’

Why would it be here? Had he done something wrong? Something else? Gordon knew next to nothing about the skeletons and their weird unspoken rules but he imagined being tailed by one meant nothing good. It felt like an omen. A sign. A grave reminder, or even a ghost, here again to haunt him. A spy maybe. For who, Gordon could most definitely guess. His jaw creaks under his stubble at the very thought.

 _If… if this is fucking Benrey_ , he thinks, _I’ll…_

He’ll what? There’s nothing he can do. He’s just doomed, isn’t he? The grim image of the sunbathed skull bobbing against the stark gray of the city buildings makes him sweat bullets.

Doomed with a capital D.

It would make sense, he guessed. If the world was cruel enough to send another, after everything, it could be cruel enough to send Benrey. His gloves palm restlessly at his greasy forehead, thumbs rubbing circles into his temples. What was he supposed to say? What do you say in that situation? ‘Sorry, I killed you and your buddies, but I wasn’t about to be crushed by a giant eldritch horror in alien-hell.’ No. Gordon wouldn’t be apologizing to it. He snorted at the very thought. Damn him if the word ‘sorry’ even came out of his mouth. Everything that had happened to him, that he’d lost, it all came back to the ‘security guard.’ It was his fault from the beginning.

His prosthetic twitched at a not so distant memory, humming against his thigh with the drone of the engine. He wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Still he doubted anything reasonable could get the skeleton to leave. Maybe, he thought, if he fucked with it right back it’d get bored, assuming it responded. Or even understood what he was saying.

But, no. His hands scraped over his scalp and down his neck. The impressions of his gloves left sweat streaks down his face. No, he couldn’t run away from it. Unfortunately. From what he remembered, no one else could see it and that was… no longer the case; (the driver was still hyperventilating at the wheel, holding on for dear life.) So who was to say the ‘rules’ even applied anymore? Besides, when he messed with it back in Black Mesa, it always messed right back. A particular phantom bullet from a backlit gun whizzed past his temple for emphasis.

No messing, no running. No fighting.

There was a draft of hot air beating against his face. Summer in the desert was like that usually. The car vents were only huffing and puffing out whatever air they were given and Gordon knew New Mexico would make sure to send her best.

So in that moment, if there was one thing Gordon could be grateful for, it was the heat.

Coming up on his left was an arch of painted cement reading ‘Yucca Crest.’ He almost doesn’t recognize it. Then he doesn’t believe it. But before he knew it, they were passing slowly through the same neighborhood he used to turn into at the end of every day. Home.

Gordon edged toward the car window, tentative as he rolled it down for a better look. Like he was making sure it was real.

Miniature valleys of familiar pebble lawns and overgrown succulents piled up at the corners of his vision until all he could see was the empty outline of almost everything he was missing. The terra-cotta roof, the rocks in his oat grass. The fescue bushes he’d never bothered to tend to. The kind he and Joshua used to make necklaces out of when he wasn’t working. Gordon remembered being obsessed with his own handiwork, pushing the chains his son’s way and forgetting to be mad when Joshua excitedly ripped it to shreds. Those happy hands and eyes couldn’t have upset him if they tried.

God, he missed his son. First thing in the morning, he resolved, Gordon would pick Joshua up and give the kid anything he wanted. Ice cream, a pony, a real actual cowboy; He would have it all.

But then he was there. The seat under him felt lighter.

A very strong feeling of change hit him then. It was eerily similar to the experience of returning home from a family vacation. Although Black Mesa could hardly compare to sleeping in a cabin or roasting marshmallows, the sight of the light peeking over his terra-cotta roof with missing shingles and overgrown plants gave Gordon the strangest sense that something huge had happened. That everything now flowed through the haze of a brand new sun, hot as it tried to be. A new perspective under new stars. Nothing could change what had happened to him. Nothing would be the same once he opened that door. How freeing.

Gordon thanked the driver. They didn’t answer. Once he’d lugged his heavy boots out of the car and waved them off, he watched them skid away as fast as the law would let them. Good, get out while you can. He enjoyed the rush of the wind it made against his face, tugging at the suit for spare skin to expose to the air. Crusted flyaways blew into his mouth soon after, and the moment was over.

He turned to face his future.

Just in time to see the skeleton cross its arms and plop down onto his welcome mat.

 _Oh,_ Gordon thought. _However did I forget?_

“You’re… fucking with me, man.”

He was fortunate enough to have a little more dignity with his initial reaction, stancing up on instinct. There was a cracked walkway between him and his visitor. Far enough across that he felt safe. Although, the skeleton looked like it couldn’t have cared less. It held his gaze effortlessly, looking bored with the turn of events. Gordon didn’t know what made him angrier, it’s nonchalance or its arrival.

“Get the hell off my porch.”

“...”

Thus the tense stare-down began anew. Gordon couldn’t be bothered to notice he was having a staring contest with something with no eyelids. Honestly, he felt like it owed him a bit more of a reaction. Wanted it to look like it felt something about the guy that kicked its ass. The guy who watched it fall like an idiot. The guy it used to torment, home from the battle of the goddamn galaxy.

He watched its jaw gnash open once, twice, and shut again. Gordon waited for the irritating, monotonous voice he knew to follow but no words came. Maybe he’d misheard it.

“Sorry?” _Oh damn it._ “…What do you want?”

The skeleton continued to flap its imaginary gums, trying again. Open, widen, shut. Nothing. Then the skeleton looked back at _Gordon_ of all people for answers. It seemed they were both out of the loop.

He looked past it, his door only steps away.

“I said what do you _want_?”

It looked around, gathering its limbs closer, criss-cross apple sauce. Those empty sockets turned back up to look at him and the skeleton slowly drew up its hands. Miming something. They clutched at the air and clamped an imaginary item down over their head, the scraped skull nuzzling into said item with enthusiasm.

“What is this, charades?” Gordon snorted, “Why can’t you say anything?”

He heard its teeth clack. It stopped miming for a moment, tapping the base of its neck and looking back at him.

“Neck? Throat?” It nodded. “No throat.” It nodded faster. Gordon sighed into himself. The door… Gordon want door. “You didn’t have a throat back in Black Mesa,” he pointed out. “or, at least the Benrey one didn’t.” The skeleton only stared back. “Are you even Benrey?” It shrugged, as though that cleared anything up. Wonderful. Gordon balled his hands, one fist to his forehead. “Look, what do you want me to do about it? This is my own damn house, I’m not gonna help anyone who was part of my own murder plot. Get off my porch.”

The skeleton made no attempt to leave, going right back to pantomiming. It slammed the object back over its head, up and down. Like, ‘c’mon this is easy.’

Gordon felt his eye twitch.

“ _What?_ ”

The skeleton threw its hands down in exasperation. It looked at the floor, trying to find something. Gordon watched it start scrabbling for an empty flower pot near the mat, dumping out the layer of soil and mulch that had settled inside. Taking the edge of it in one hand, it tilted the pot onto its skull like a top hat. Over and over again, looking like the longer Gordon stared, the more angry it would get. If it kept moving like that it was gonna break something. Gordon was already striding over going, “Hey! Hey, hey! Quit it!” He yanked the pot out of its hands. It started dumbly up at him, grabbing at it in the air. “If you’re gonna waste my time and get in my way, the least you can do is not fuckin’ break anything. You know what—get up!”

He watched it rise to its feet and stare up at him, eyeing the pot in his hand. Gordon put it behind his back, returning the scowl. “Look its not a fucking hat, dude, I dunno what to want from me.” For once the skeleton looked happy, wringing its hands his way. “What? Hat?” Another nod. “What do you want with a hat?”

More hand wringing, with another gesture to its throat.

“Yeah, I think I like you better without your throat, man,” Gordon said. He’d like it a lot more if it were gone. “How would that even…?” He wonders aloud. The skeleton meets his gaze again. “Whatever. Just move at least?” Not sensing a lot of moment, he let out a weary groan. He can feel all the dirt and blood settling closer and closer into his skin with every second. Maybe if he did this _one_ thing for it… “If I get you a hat or whatever you need, will you get out of my damn doorway?” It was already out of the way. Gordon sighed his thanks and fished a key out from behind the doorsill’s ridge. It went in the keyhole without a hitch.

He looked back at the skeleton, hesitating with his hand at the knob. “No breaking anything. You’re in and out, you hear me?”

The skeleton nodded so hard it looked like its skull was gonna roll off. So they walked in one after another.

Lugging in his suit inside, the skeleton wedged past him and immediately got to work looking around. Gordon couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. He leaned against the doorway, finally pushing through and running his hands through his hair. Home. Finally home. He kind of couldn’t believe it. ‘Felt like he was walking through water. The light settling in from the windows was hazy from the sunset, hitting his face at just the right angle. Although the living room lamp had been on all this time, he realized. Gordon muttered a short, ‘of course,’ barely registering the light clanking in his kitchen. He smacked the switch with a limp hand and made his way to the couch, flopping over on his stomach. With the help of the heavy suit, he sunk into the cushions with ease. The tough throw pillows settled around his scruff, bristling his face in a fantastic way. A comfortable sigh rumbled out against the rough fabric. Took him a minute to notice the other weight that had settled on the couch’s arm behind his legs.

“Get off, Benrey.”

He still felt the empty sockets boring into his scalp.

Gordon flopped over on his back and was met with a much closer skull than he’d anticipated. The skeleton leaned over him, impatient. So impatient, it was starting to vibrate. Gordon watched as its particles of bone undulated to an unseen rhythm with a worsening expression. “Jesus Christ…” He couldn’t help but murmur. It probably hadn’t noticed, looking down at its leg and tilting its head. Gauging his shocked expression, it made the ‘hat’ motion again. Right. Gordon got back on his feet, leaning against the hallway wall for support. He flicked on a light. It followed him to the closet. The door squeaked when it opened.

“I’ve got something in here that might fit. I don’t even remember where I got it I just _know_ I have it.” Gordon said, more to himself than anyone. The skeleton just watched from the doorway, continuing to pulsate like it was no big deal. Gordon winced, and his eyes fell on a sliver of khaki material behind a shoebox. The bucket hat knocked something over as he pulled it from the depths of the top shelf. He flicked it out and tossed it to the skeleton. Gordon’s almost impressed by how fast it clamps the hat on its skull.

They stared at one another, apparently waiting on something to happen. Until it does.

A small sliver of candy-red something slid out from under the skeleton’s cheekbone and took its place against its jaw. Another flopped out in a light pink tendril, fastening itself under its jawbone. Soon the skeleton’s face was a mess of constant motion. Red and pinks and eventually much thinner yellows fed themselves at over its body, a cool blue glow feeding in from an unknown source and flooding the closet in cyan. It took Gordon a minute to realize he was watching a transformation. Once he did, he wouldn’t help but stare in morbid fascination. His eyes traced the crawling ligaments stretching themselves out and settling in place. He saw the layers of the vague gesture of human anatomy pile in and attach to unknown sources, vacuum sealing the glowing figure into reality. The bucket hat was beyond saving, black wiry material threading in and over the cap from under the brim. It disappeared behind a mane of shaggy black fur— hair, which then became something of a dome.

He’d seen this before. The blue light began to fade as the familiar grey blue skin meshed over the raw muscle of his enemy, glow falling behind the figure’s sharp features. Fabric materialized out of nowhere. His boots simply popped into existence. Gordon grimaced when he saw the last few drops of his skin stretch into the same smug smile he’d seen a little earlier in alien hell and the exhausting weeks before it. He saw the light disappear along with the top of his head behind a shadow from nowhere. Two big yellow eyes opened in half moons, slit pupils adjusting to the light.

Benrey flexed his new hands. He offered the physicist a little salute.

“yo.”


End file.
